Evie's Curse
by August Songs
Summary: When John Watson is out and about, he comes across a strange girl laying hurt by the street side. Taking her back to 221B, he finds that she has the same gift for observation as Sherlock. But Evie knows better than to call it a gift.
1. The Discovery

**Hi all! It's me again, and I have just finished Sherlock Holmes. Again. I wrote this because it has been stuck in my head for weeks, and I thought getting it out here would help. Probably only going to be a few chapters, so you have been warned. Thank you so much for any reads, reviews, comments, etc. Even if you just say one word. Thank you, and now enjoy the show! (Love from August Songs)**

**Disclaimer: I am not dead. So these ain't mine, now, are they? **

It was a normal day for John until he found the girl lying on the roadside.

John whistled as he walked along. Since Sherlock had not had a case for three weeks, he was in a positively terrible mood, shooting the wall and glaring at his skull, so John was out for some fresh air. The dirty, crowded streets of London didn't bother him too much by now, and he was in a decent mood when he reached the store. As usual, he purchased the groceries and was about to turn the corner when he heard the shriek. It stood his hair on end not only because of its piercing pitch, but because of the voice that uttered it. A young girl's, a child's. A tortured cry. John didn't wait a second, dropping the groceries and sprinting lopsidedly towards the sound of the scream.

Evie had been curled on the ground for half an hour — _no, _she corrected herself, _twenty-eight minutes and fifty two seconds_ — before they started the burning. She knew they normally didn't start so early, but evidently, as she allowed her eyes to crack open into slits, she could see that her tormenter's affair had been discovered. Br_uise on thigh - looks like pointed shoe heel - woman mad - smells like woman's perfume, not wife's - wife kicked him - shoes tied from yesterday, worn all night - got home late last night - wife found out about affair). _She decided to open her eyes a bit more, just to see if there was anyone else with problems, but immediately regretted it as her vision first blazed in the sun and then poured a series of images into her brain, which were transferred to facts too fast for her to recognize. The images came flooding in: wo_man to left - Rosalind Donovan - sister a police - mother died a while ago, inherited small sum - men are Jones, Sean Revanado - SEAN HIRED - JONES DATED ROSALIND IN HIGH SCHOOL - SEAN ISN'T SURE ABOUT TORTURE—_ Evie closed her eyes, and tried to stop her brain from analyzing any more of the images stuck in her head. _It never works_, she thought as a slight smirk painted itself across her face. _Shouldn't you know that by now?_ She could vaguely feel, as if from a long way, her skin burning as the lighter hit her hand hard. She could barely tell that she was being burnt; she had learnt to shut those things out. She could definitely feel the crack that meant her finger had snapped, inducing the first shriek. The people chuckled meanly. Evie waited for the second, inevitable snap of her wrist, but what she got instead was a soft hand on her side. She shied away (_was this another attempt at making me less wary?_) but was met by only another hand around her waist. The man picked her up, and she whispered, as quickly as possible, "Leave me."

The man replied (_strong accent, hint of Middle East) _"You crazy? You could've died!" Then, despite her attempts at keeping her eyelids closed, she had to lift them to get some information about this oddly caring man. Immediately the man's shirt filled her eyesight. _Checking pulse expertly - medical - walks with semi-permanent limp, shoulder shot - army - old tan, still strong - Middle Eastern sun and hint of accent - not too long ago - shirt has Afghan make - Afghanistan - labelled J. Watson–––––_ she closed her eyes, then, and let Watson's motions rock her to sleep.


	2. In which Evie's curse is discovered

**Do you hear that sound? That is the sound of me mentally screaming. PEOPLE HAVE SEEN THIS STORY! PEOPLE OTHER THAN ME! *sigh* is so wonderful… Well, anyways, I had to update after seeing that. You know the drill… please read and review, comment, etcetera. Thank you all so much, this means the world to me.**

Evie woke up to the sound of a man's deep voice. Well, maybe "woke up" is an overstatement; she became aware of the sounds, smells, and tastes of the room around her, although she was not yet fully conscious. The man was not the same one that had picked her up; his voice was too soft and had none of Watson's accent. "Interesting, John. Very interesting." So that was the J on his shirt.  
"From what I can see, it has been mildly abused since the age of three, more heavily since it was six or seven. Yet it has not yet gone insane, you say?"  
"For goodness sake, Sherlock! It is a she! And no, she was quite coherent when I picked her up. She told me to leave her, that she wasn't hurt. I've never heard such a load of stupidity in my life! But she was so sincere when she said that." John stopped and Evie took the chance to see what she could about his friend, Sherlock.  
_Smells of tobacco smoke and hot wood - smokes a lot - stepped around me with hardly any effort - about 6 feet tall - soft, sharp voice - older - skinny - London accent —_ Evie was interrupted by the man's long, tapered fingers on her throat. Involuntarily, she flinched away from his hand, her arm reaching up and weakly smacking him away. "Ah! It—"  
"She, Sherlock."  
"She is awake! But why then does she not open her eyes?"  
"That could just be a reflex—"  
"No. She has not been abused that long, and there is someone who takes care of her. A woman, slightly obese, owes a debt to this girl's mother.  
Although Evie's eyes remained shut, her mind was whirling. He knows! He sees the same things I do! And then, without her permission, her eyes popped open. Fully open, too wide to be healthy. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in too much information at once. Evie started coughing from the willpower it took to hold back the surge of insights she had into the lives of Sherlock Holmes and John Hamish Watson.  
Holmes looked at Evie and jumped, recoiling backwards the tiniest bit. "The eyes..." he muttered, so soft that even Evie's unusually sharp hearing could barely pick it up. John somehow managed to ignore this, and instead asked, "Are you feeling well?"  
Evie looked up, fixing her heterochromiatic eyes upon John. She answered automatically. "Yes–good–not insane—" But by then the strain of holding back the words combined with the fact that she was already speaking blew away her defenses, and word vomit exploded out. "Dr. J-John H. Watson, army doctor, Afghanistan, pscycomatic limp and injured shoulder, married happily to Sarah Watson, flatmate to Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, Lestrade and Gregson, brother called Mycroft who has house under surveillance—" Evie finally got her mouth under control. She closed her eyes tightly – I cannot see anything from my eyelids — and fearfully tilted her face down.  
As Holmes leaned in, a million things ran through Evie's mind, finishing with _he hasn't hurt me yet, not screaming - am safe for now._ This opinion changed when he asked, quietly, "How did you do that?" Evie immediately curled into a fetal position. She began murmuring, out of habit, barely loud enough for the men to hear."Oh gosh I'm sorry ! Please don't kill me, I looked it up, it's fake, I'm fake, just please don't kill me!" She was whimpering, berating herself for being so stupid. Y_ou idiot! He might have your gift, maybe he would've liked you if you hadn't told him! Nobody else knew this early on - nobody! He hates you now, he'll hurt you, and it is all. Your. Fault!_ She thought he was going to kick her, or hit her. She certainly wasn't expecting the hearty laugh that Holmes emitted. "Oh - this - is - a - banner - day!" Evie looked at him oddly. Didn't he know that you weren't supposed to laugh? he was supposed to smirk and spit, to hurt her? Holmes looked down, smiling, and asked Evie in a slightly softer and kinder tone, "What is your name?"

Evie blushed and replied, "Evie Holmes. Odd Evie, they call me."

**Cliffhanger, muahahaha. Everyone reading this *facepalm*. For those intelligent people, heterochromia is when your eyes are different colors. Evie's are blue and grey. **


End file.
